Venus Envy
by JLvE
Summary: Based on the book by Rita Mae Brown. An author. Who wrote te book Venus Envy. Who rocked my world when I was little. I'm still not tall.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N at the end**

* * *

Machine's made an awful lot of noise. Andy came to that conclusion after two full days of lying in a hospital. The heart monitor sounded like her alarm in the morning, only she wasn't able to shut it off, and the oxygen pump made her feel like she was in a post apocalyptic movie where everyone had to wear gasmasks in order to survive. Which was kind of her situation now. Just without the heroic actions, or the happy ever after.

Dying, she thought, required some tolerance.

'Door to door beauty service has arrived.' The melody of Doug's voice sounded optimistic when entering the room.

'I'm sorry, but that's not needed. I'm on top of my beauty.' Andy waved her hand lamely.

'That is true my dear.' He walked over to her bedside. 'That is true.' He repeated and kissed her on her forehead. 'How are you feeling today?'

'On a scale from one to death?' She mocked. But she saw the glimmer in Doug's eyes. They joked about her situation, but the line between laughter and crying was always very thin.

'On a scale from one to I love you.'

'Ahhw, I love you too Dougie.' She grinned. 'And I decided to express that through the saving of my vanilla pudding.' She pulled a small cup of pudding from underneath her cushion. Although she didn't eat any hospital food - her nutrition had come in fluid form since she was hospitalized- the nurses were fond of both Andy and her best friend who had stayed by her day and night so they saved a cup of his favourite desert for him every time.

Doug grabbed the chair next to Andy's bed and slumped down in it with a satisfied groan. 'Such a good thing to finally sit. Send your parents home did ya?' He opened the lid of the cup and started to eat enthusiastically. They all took shifts sitting around Andy's bed since they heard the news. Him, Lilly, and Andy's parents, but in reality everyone was living in Andy's hospital room. Sleeping next to her, whether it was in a spare hospital bed or on the ground. This was the first time in three days that her parents went to Andy's apartment to change and nap.

Andy smiled at the display of her eating best-friend. 'Just for a few hours of sleep and to do some laundry. Mom refused at first. Luckily she listened to me and dad combined. Well, mostly dad because my voice was nowhere to be found this afternoon.' A frustrated sigh accompanied a deep frown. Always having been the chatty person, getting lung cancer was a real karma bitch. Doug did not respond with 'Well you can barely hear it now too, probably because there is a breathing-tube down your throat.' Instead he smiled and said 'that's a wise decision.'

After three months being a journalist for the Mirror Andy started to feel a tightness around her chest and a little shortness on breath. She didn't pay any attention to it. Must be the transfer to the Mirror and the stress of a new job. What's new under the sun. Just some extra vitamins and it would be over in a week. However, over the last three months it gradually became heavier until she had this odd metallic rattle when she breathed or tried to talk. Doug had told her she had hairballs. She laughed until she had to rush to the ER three days ago because she could not breathe without tears from pain leaking onto her cheeks.  
An X-ray an blood tests confirmed the nightmare. Bilateral inoperable carcinoma of the lungs, that spread into her chest. Bye bye future. Hello Hospital bed and an awful lot of morphine. Which was real good stuff by the way. The doctors and nurses admired her pain resistance, but she had expected worse. And even though she was dying, she was determined on going with a smile, much like she always lived.

'Your parents be back soon though. Probably with more flowers.'

'Please no more flowers,' she groaned. Andy's kind nature had resulted in at least a couple of hundred dollars worth in flowers in her room. Word that she was lying in the hospital spread like the wind, but she had been reserved about telling her diagnosis. Which resulted in an awful lot of 'get-well-soon' cards accompanied with tons of flowers. Together with Lills she had made an 'Ironic' wall at the side of her room, agreeing that even half-truths were better than the awful yellow wallpaper underneath it.

'He, Andygirl, I got something for you too.' Doug wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to create some mystery. 'On my way from home to here I walked by this company, you know, real ugly logo, ultimate capitalist, profit-based, famous multinational, hipster-like, -'

'You didn't!' Her eyes started to glimmer. Doug laughed.

'I did.' He opened his bag, and swiftly pulled out a thermos filled with one no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot from Starbucks. 'They didn't sell it in IV-bag size so I took the regular one. Be aware, it can be a little hot. Scalding is the way you like it right?'

'Yes! Oh, you are amazing. Oh, I could just sniff this all day.' She inhaled deeply. And for a second she saw those icy-blue eyes closing in content when taking a sip. A shot of pain, quite different from that the pain of the cancer, ran through her. And tears welled up in her eyes.

'I'm so sorry Andyspy. I shouldn't have –' Dough worriedly looked at her.

'No, no it is quite okay.' It's just a little… weird… Y'know?' She tried to smile at him. 'But smelling it is good too.' She sniffed some more. It smelled so… warm. The closest to comfort she could get. But after thinking it she felt guilty. It was not the closest to comfort she could get. All the people that meant so much to her were there for her. Staying at her bedside no matter how awful and hopeless her situation. It was however, the closest surrogate comfort from _her._ Staring at the coffee she tried to take in all its properties, all the memories and the colours and sounds that accompanied the cup. Doug softly squeezed her shoulder. 'You know we will be alright don't you?'

'Yes.' She grabbed Doug's hand. 'Yes I know you will.' Tears glided down her cheeks. She missed him. Already. And at the same time she wished she could spend time with her parents a little more. She wished she could spend more time with all her loved ones apart. She wished she could get outside of this depressing hospital room. To just walk in this gorgeous city and breathe actual air instead of compressed O2 through a tube. She wished so much.

'He, Andy bird, don't worry. It's going to be okay.' Doug cradled her in his big arms and stroked through her hair. She sniffled a bit and exhaled a shaky breath. 'It's going to be okay.' She could hear the timbre of his voice resonating through his chest. She liked the sound and cradled deeper into his arms.

'Did Nigel and Emily visit you in the hours that I was gone?' It was a useless question. Of course they hadn't. They had come by when she was taken into the hospital, but before the tests were run. She had told them that all had been well. And that she just needed to be resting and doing some more tests and stuff. Using some random medical jargon they had, as expected, accepted her half-truth and assured her that they would come and visit her soon.

'You might want to tell them?' Doug's timbre now sounded a bit unsure.  
'And what? Make them feel guilty for not being able to visit me more? They already kill themselves over the fact that they have no time to visit me.'  
'Well the last time I saw the redhead she snapped at me like, 50 times and then ate my chocolate muffin and took 10 phone calls. '

'Yes but that is Emily killing herself over the fact that she can't be here more. I mean, have you seen how much the girl weights? And only responding to 10 means she let at least 50 go over to voicemail.'  
Doug remained silent.

She spoke with a small voice into his shoulder. 'I just don't want them to see me like this, I don't want them to know I'm… I'm…' again the tears made way through her body.

'I know honey. I know.' Softly Dough stroke her hair while she cried. At some point, she could feel his shoulders shatter too. Together they hurled around each other.

When she calmed down a bit he dried the strains with a tissue.

'What are those?' Doug pointed at the paper on her desk near her bed. Glad to be switching subjects she looked at where he was pointing.

'Oh. Janine, the kind nurse gave them. Letters to tomorrow if I would write them.'

'Are you going to?' Dough asked hesitantly.

'No I don't think so.' Andy shrugged her shoulders.

A knocking sound on the door was the signal of Lilly arriving, but the first thing sticking around the door were flowers. 'Got these from your apartment Andypants.' Lilly's voice sounded cheerful, which formed a needed break within the loaded atmosphere. Andy recognized the light pink of freezia's and couldn't contain her giggle about the irony of all of it.

'Now where shall I put them?'

* * *

When Andy's eyes fluttered open, the digital clock read 3:12. Dough was sound asleep in a weird angle on the chair next to her. Her parents were huddled together on the other side. They had come back without waking her.

When she tried to write the tube of the morphine drip was in the way so she took it out of her hand. 'Might as well die while feeling something.' She mumbled. Grasping her favourite pen from the nightstand next to her bed she started writing. Her parents, Lily, Doug, Nate even, Nigel, Emily and at last, when she was too tired and the withdrawal from the morphine started to kick in and she felt sick to her bones, she wrote Miranda. She was going to die, she realized. And she didn't want to. She wanted to be alive. She wanted to feel, and run, and do so much, but she was so tired. She was so very tired and everything hurt. She started to feel nauseous, and with a last attempt she folded the letters and stamped them. After that, she whispered 'I love you. So much.' to the dark and sleeping forms surrounding her. Then she closed her eyes and fell in a turmoiled sleep, of which she did not expect to return.

* * *

 **Hi there.  
** **A new story start for me. Because I needed to keep on writing but I couldn't manage with all the other stories. I always work on them, even if it is one or two sentences a month. But I needed something aside it to keep me going. We've now esthablished that 1) Everything I write, I write slowly and 2) There is no way of knowing when I update. I cannot work with schedules, so I am so very sorry but cannot promise you regular updates for anything or any fic.**

 **This is a story based on one of the first Lesbian books I read back in the day when I was still so deep in the closet. I now realise how particular unrealistic the storyline is, but to me all that mattered was that the protagonist was not straight. This story will not be following the book, but rather is inspired by it. So, in honour of Rita Mae Brown and Venus Envy, this story bares the same title as the book.**

 **Thank you, for those out there that sometimes give my works a try. I am very very gratefull to this fandom that is characterized by so many great authors as well as lovely people who are open to new writers and readers.  
**

 **I dont own DWP, which I am actually happy about. This way, we can all build together this fandom. Including my mistakes, that I often make, but never feel judged for.**

 **Thanks. xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Did I mention that I do not own anything?  
Chapt.2 is up (yay), finals are killing me (yay) I have a goldfish that ignores me (yay).  
**

* * *

Dr. Nolan was enjoying the quiet of an uncomplicated night-shift. Coffee in one hand, and a few charts in the other he slowly walked through the hospital halls towards his desk. He had a fruitful year of assistants and co's. So he needn't to juggle patient after patient while his minions were apologizing for letting charts disappear or adding too much, too little or the wrong medicine to a patient.

Sitting down at his desk he happily sighed. Perhaps he could fill out some forms and then take a quick nap. Maybe if he was lucky he… well, no such thing because his beeper started to ask for attention. Apparently quiet-time was over.

* * *

'What's the deal Janovic?' Dr. Nolan walked towards the room of Ms. Sachs while asking for an update.

'Sir there has been a mistake.' Great, a mistake, hopefully he hadn't given her anti-malaria pills. God knows that happened too many times with those chicken-doctors.

'What kind of mistake?'

'WellapparentlysomesocialnumbersreallylookalikeandIthinkthenurseswerereallytiredwhenfillingthisoutbutitjustcameinand-'

All the rambling was definitely not coherent but Dr. Nolan had the icky feeling this was not going to be good. He stopped walking. 'Slow down. Start again. Now. What is the problem?'

'The scans of Ms. Sachs have been swapped with the scans of Ms. Whiteaker.' Janovic was looking at him as if his balls would be half the normal size after Nolan had dealt with him.

'Meaning what?'

'That Ms. Sachs is having a severe cause of bronchitis… But is connected to a morphine drip because we thought she was dying.'

* * *

Andy woke up with the feeling of a double hangover. Nauseous, blurry, and a headache like she had just awoke from a 40 day journey through the desert. Which would not be completely impossible compared to the amount of thirst she felt.

'Welcome back Ms. Sachs. Please stay calm. We can imagine you're thirsty, that is a common side effect of morphine withdrawal. However, because of your lungs and the peculiar state of being that you're in it is unwise to drink anything. You are allowed to take a few ice-chips though.'

'What the fuck is happening?' She wanted to say. It sounded like an undefinable whisper of a _Platyceratops._

'I am afraid we have some good news and some bad news.' Dr. Nolan said in his most empathic-yet-objective tone. An intern handed her a few chips of ice, which she gratefully sucked in. Instantly she felt better and worse. Her thirst being a bit relieved, but her chest cramped in pain. Fuck, the cancer was still killing her.

'Worse than dying?' She tried to say. It wasn't much of a better sound but apparently dr. Nolan had understood. A small grin appeared on his face.

'Well, if you phrase it like that, no. However, - and his face turned serious again- it is of importance that you understand what we have to tell you. Your lung scan results - those that absolutely confirm a diagnose which was in your case cancer- were accidentally mixed up at the lab with another patient. Due to your social security number that are highly alike the results got switched up. Therefore you've been diagnosed incorrectly.'

'Meaning what?'

'You have a severe case of Bronchitis, but are otherwise perfectly healthy, and cancer free.'

'I am… I'm… what?'

'Cancer free. Your bronchitis is severe, probably caused by high levels of stress and an unhealthy lifestyle, work I assume, which has common symptoms yet will disappear when treated with antibiotics. I will subscribe you the required dose, and some pills to help you with the withdrawal from the morphine. You see with the amount of morphine that we described because of… the more humane option that your diagnose required, the side effects of with -'

'I took that one out last night. I wanted to feel.'

'Alright. Well, then I will get the pills immediately and leave the word to Mr. Hamilton.' He smiled again. 'My sincere thanks for taking the news so well.' His smile changed into a tight uncomfortable one. 'We understand the heavy implications of such a… miscommunication. We will take care of everything you need in order to get you healthy and clean out of this hospital.'

Andy thought he was talking like a lobby boy from the Hilton. Then she thought: I am not dying.

I am not. Dying.

A scruffy young man in frumpled suit stepped away from the doctor. He clearly had been woken up maximum half an hour ago. 'Ms. Sachs, my name is Eugene Hamilton. I am here to talk about your peculiar case. Please note that it is …' His voice faded out while Andy pinched her wrist. It was not a dream. She was not dying. Letting her fingers flutter she felt her own pulse. A pulse that would continue to be there for another while. Way longer then she thought.

I am alive, she thought.

…. we have to inform you about the fact that you can may call a lawyer, however, we would like to advise to consider not taking the case to court. Often these cases end in a settlement but think of the time and money that it will take to….

I am alive. I can go. I can get better. Andy started to grin. It hurt, but it did hurt in the best way. The ultimate fucking good way. She was alive, and she better damn well know it!

…. Lack of funding within the hospital, therefore your claim can cost someone's health, so we encourage you to think of this with your most humane view-'

'Where are my parents? Where's Doug? And Lilly?' she screeched. Mr. Hamilton rose an eyebrow at being interrupted in his speech on whatever he was talking about. A polite but unmeant smile appeared on his face.

'Your relatives are in the hallway, currently being filled in on your situation by Doctor Nolan.'

That's good, Andy thought in relief. Knowing that they were still around was comforting. It added to her slow feeling of reality. She was going to be okay. She did not have to leave anyone, or anything yet. She would stick around for a while. Her body became heavy with the knowledge and her eyes started to flutter, tired of the emotionally heavy days that she had been through.

'I see that you're tired miss Sachs.'

Right, the man was still here.

'I'll put my card on your nightstand. Do not hesitate to contact me in order to talk about your prospects.'

She didn't think he meant the prospect of embracing anything i radius out of sheer thankfulness of life when she had the energy again. But she nodded gratefully, hoping that he would leave and she could talk to her parents and friends.

Which happened right after Hamilton left. Her mother overloading her with kisses, while crying 'oh my dear baby girl, you are going to be all right. You're going to be fine.' Her father also blinked away his tears, while Doug and Lily hurled together, waiting to hug her. She smiled and cried and laughed at the same time until a nurse came into the room to do some check-ups on her. It was then that her father hesitantly asked 'do you perhaps know who mixed up my daughters charts?' The nurse smiled apologetically.

'No sir, I am afraid not.'

'You see we thought she was dying and now-'

'Dad.' Andy interrupted him. 'Dad we can talk about this later. There is a card Mr. Hamilton left.' She pointed at her nightstand where the card lay, neatly next to…. Nothing. Her cards. They were gone. Where a small pile of letters had graced her nightstand was now empty space.'

'Where are my letters?!' She squeaked with a raspy voice.

'I just posted them.' The nurse smiled a broad smile, relieved that her father wasn't asking any more difficult questions. 'With my early rounds they were just in time for the mailman to take them with him. Don't worry, they're in good hands. She winked. He's been picking up and delivering mail since forever at the hospital. Probably they will arrive within two days.'

Andy's face paled.

'O god.'

'Are you alright darling? Perhaps you should sleep some more before you leave. Don't worry, I will make sure Dr. Nolan has signed the discharge papers this afternoon so you can go home and recover.' She smiled at Andy full of joy. 'You are one lucky girl.'


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N  
Lil'WelshDragon: so nice to read that you read (and enjoyed) the book too! :D  
Thank you all for your sweet, funny, great reviews. They made my day(s).  
**

* * *

Her parents called two days after. They already flew home, but were still worried about her health. Andy made sure she kept them updated via text message on her status. It spoke of trust that they let her rehabilitate in New York without demanding her to come to Cincinnati, and she gladly responded with letting them in on her well-being. So when she picked up her phone and she only heard her mom's sobbing at the end of the line she got worried that something had gone wrong. She heard the click of the phone changing to speaker and her dad took over, explaining with a hoarse voice that they had received her letter, and that they just wanted to hear her voice if she was alive. Andy got a lump in her throat but reassured that she was still very much there, and that the pills and antibiotics were starting to kick in, so that she could already eat soup and pudding without too much pain. 'That's good to hear little bird.' Her father responded. 'Then we shall leave you to your things. Your mother and I-, we sometimes have to get used to the different futures we got presented in the last week.' Andy's eyes glossed over.

'I understand dad, I really do. It is weird for me too. Sometimes I still think that it is a dream and that I am actually still in the hospital without-'

Her dad made a strangled noise and her mom's sobbing got louder. It twisted Andy's stomach. Recollecting herself she continued 'Luckily I am very healthy, in spite of a little coughing', she attempted at joking. It lifted the mood a little and she could sense that her parents were collecting themselves too. 'How's home?' she asked.

'It's good.' Her mother responded. 'The bluebells are fully blooming in our garden.'

'That's lovely, I like those.'

'I know, I shall give them a little extra water on behalf of you.'

They chitchatted a little more but when they heard Andy's yawn they bid her goodbye and assured that they would call in another few days. Andy agreed and send them kisses through the phone and promised she would get in early tonight. While clicking the end call button on her phone Andy took a shaky breath, glad that her parents had been okay, but also thrown into the reality that her letters were actually arriving, and that she had no way of knowing how others were going to respond. On the other side of the line her parents hugged each other another time while reading the –supposedly last- letter written by their daughter.

 _Dear mom and dad,_

 _You've been so brave. And I cannot thank you enough for all that you've done._

 _There is nothing left that I can write what you don't already know, because I have told you so many times that I love you. And that I am so grateful to have you as my parents._

 _I know they say losing a child is the hardest thing. And I cannot say that I went with the feeling that it was my time. But I think that is part of being in this universe. We can't know when or why things happen the way they happen._

 _Still, I would like to write it one more time. That you may forever know,_

 _I love you._

 _Your daughter,_

 _Andy_


	4. Chapter 4

Nigel usually didn't receive any mail. Which was a relief for him as he disliked mailman in their hideous outfits. How someone could walk in such a light shade of blue that undermined any feeling of authority was a mystery to him. He wasn't opposed to the fleeting fantasy of having sex with men in uniform, however postal uniforms would only drop his arousal to minus three. Next to that Nigel was very private, and only few people were aware of his address. So when luck would have it that he opened his mailbox he was surprised to see an envelope waiting for him. Deciding he would read it before going to work he opened it and was surprised to see Six's handwriting.

 _Dear Nigel,_

 _By the time you read this I shall most likely be dead. And as cliché as you are (don't you deny it) I thought you'd appreciate a last letter in which I write you about our dearest moments together, such as me whining about problems that are not yours, or the time that you got so drunk you threw up in the bushes near the Sacher hotel (don't deny that too, I have to admit that I still have the picture even though you threaten to let Patricia poop in my first self-payed-for Jimmy Choo's if I didn't delete it)._

 _But that is not why I write you, Nigel. As I am sure that you know how much I love you and I trust you to trust on that knowledge. I am here to give you a last reprimand. A last chance of saying what the heart feels, as my heart won't be feeling anymore any time soon._

 _You're amazing Nigel. In everything you do, in every lay-out that you polish, in every shoot that you solely build, and we all know that Miranda has been giving you that power and responsibility to do so since Paris. With every time you act or talk, you are giving more than 200 percent. But you are wrong, Nigel. You told me once, that when I had no social life anymore, that it would be time for a promotion. And you have lived by that rule yourself. But it is an erroneous rule, and I wish you would deem yourself good enough to see that. You deserve love Nigel. And I know, I am more than convinced, that if you would start to look around, start to give just a little bit of that 200 percent that you have in you that many men will be waiting in line. Pick one, fall for one (or many, I don't mind), open up to someone. It is so precious to be able to rely on someone, to have someone that –even if they have no clue about fashion ;)- is willing and able to listen to you when you have a bad day. To kiss you before going to work or seduce you with kinky leather._

 _I know, you have plenty of sex (don't make me write down that memory please), enough young models around with just the right image. But remember Nigel, an image doesn't appear near your bedside with soup when you're sick. It takes two to spoon in a bed._

 _It is my last request to you, and as I am dying I think you should give in (see, I am that desperate to see you happy that I'll go over my dead body to convince you. Don't make me haunt you, as I look forward to utter freedom and laziness in my afterlife). You've been a true and dear friend to me, thank you._

 _Love, always,_

 _Andrea_

Nigel had to pretend to clear his glasses three times so that he could cry during rubbing the frame with his handkerchief. Six had called him yesterday to update him on her status, and had told the story of the doctors thinking that she had been dying as if it was a hilarious joke. Apparently she had conveniently left out that she had been under the same impression as the doctors. He didn't know whether he was hurt that she had not told him she had been in such a bad state, because he immediately understood she had done so out of concern for him. Still, he felt a heavy sadness understanding that he had been so, so very close to losing his friend. Folding the letter into his inner pocket of his jacket he realized he had a lot of thinking to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Doug immediately recognized Andy's handwriting on the violet envelope in between all the ads and other useless mail such as nota's. The gracious italic of the letters and the round curve's of the capital D that was almost calligraphy he had seen on many notes throughout the years. She had always gotten A's for her handwriting. Destined to become a journalist he thought.

He dropped the letter on the table in the living room while making lunch. It was one of his favourite moments of the day, as the house would be completely to himself. The little pleasure of letting the milk standing on the kitchen island instead of in the fridge were precious things in his life. He didn't need to open the door again if he wanted another glass.

With a grilled sandwich he walked into the living room. Andy probably wouldn't mind him reading and eating at the same time. She knew him that way. So with his first bite in his mouth he opened the letter.

 _Dear Doug,_

 _As you read this I shall most likely be dead. Which is no surprise, you've practically been living next to my bedside. I can't possibly tell you how much that means to me._

 _Still: a last letter, because I never stop talking, right?_

 _Do you remember how we used to play spies? Of course you do, our missions were almost always successful, as they consisted mostly of stealing the fresh-baked cookies from your granny (I now realize that she always made two extra, as her she and her friends were with a total of six, but she always baked eight…). But do you remember how we knew that Billy was going to sneak away from his exam and that we attached empty can's on a string at his bike so that he made a lot of noise and got caught? Or that I made you climb in the tree to get whisker out, and that you got afraid so that I had climb in to get you out? At least we tried to do good._

 _Nevertheless: I got another mission for you. For us, but as I am temporary without body (until further notice) you shall have to do the earthly work while I take notes from above (and you bet I will). The mission is called 'HALFD' (You are allowed to change the name, I admit it still needs a little work). Happiness-And-Love-For-Doug. I starts with divorcing Lydia._

 _Don't get me wrong. I know you love Lydia, in a sort of Sunday afternoon-ish way. I can see that whenever you sit at the table with the shining silverware that she insisted on buying that you're not unhappy, as you do not find the silverware ugly. But that is it, Doug, you're not happy either. I do not see that utter relief of the ultimate coming home. And I know it is impossible to feel that way every day. But you've been married for 4 years and 7 months (Lydia doesn't only keeps track of it on the calendar in your restroom, she tells me. Every freakin' time I talk to her. That includes text messages) and honestly I've not seen it once. The last two years I can even see a little haunting in your eyes. A little… sadness and despair that grows._

 _It will keep on growing Doug, don't pretend it is not there. Because then you'll wake up one day with a morphine tube in your hand and the realization that it has haunted you and that it took over. That you spilled a lifetime on pretending. At least, that is how it worked for me._

 _Yes, yes I admit. Easy to admit things on the last day of your life isn't it? I am apparently no different from others as only the knowledge of death standing at my front door that breaks through my (in)famous stubbornness (I love my stubbornness, Don't you think that I would ever give that up. Not for a thousand deaths)._

 _I love her. When I graciously 'lost' my phone along with my job I also 'lost' a part of myself. I didn't lose it Doug, I threw it away. For the sake of a career, for the sake of being someone I knew. Someone whose role in life I am perfectly able to play. She said to me, right before I walked away: you can see beyond what people want and need and choose for yourself. And she was right, I saw beyond my own want and need. But instead of choosing the person I could be, I just choose to not give in and to stay the person that I at least knew would be 'okay-ish'…And I miscalculated the prize of that action greatly._

 _Come out of that closet Doug. I know, your closet is filled with carpet and a lovely view from the keyhole, but it is not the real world. Inside time stands still while outside the 21_ _st_ _century ticks rapidly._

 _And give Lydia the chance to become happy too. I know you can't bear the thought of hurting her, but staying this way will hurt her. Slowly but inevitably. I can't shake the feeling that the time track keeping is just to remind her that at least one of you values this marriage. No, I am not saying that you don't value the marriage. I know you are the best husband one can dream of. But let her find someone that keeps track of time with her instead of her keeping track of time for someone. Start wearing your own watch. Nobody can have the time of your life but you. And I know how much you love that song._

 _Let this be our last mission Doug. Because as much as it was your mission to make me happy, it was also my mission to make you happy. But I can't do that alone. I need help from you._

 _You are the best friend I ever had. You are my buddy, ever since we finger-painted all over ourselves in kindergarten. I can't ever thank you enough for all that you've done for me. With me. If I could, I would steel cookies with you forever._

 _Love,_

 _Andyspy_

When Doug was done reading tears were leaking down his face. His sandwich left untouched after that first bite.


	6. Chapter 6

**Can't find my... whatever it is for this chapter. Sorry. Also, did you know my former teacher added me on Facebook. Freud is laughing in his grave about my confusion and feelings about that. This is an entirely random confession. Apologies, but its night and I have to sleep. Yada yada for whom the mistakes all belong to. Me, that is.**

* * *

Miranda sat at her desk when her eye fell on the neatly arranged magazines. A violet envelope with her name on it graced one of them, as if it was part of her daily selection. Deeming it worthy of opening by the sheer graciousness of the handwriting that had formed her name she picked it up.

 _Dear Miranda,_

 _I am so sorry I was not able to choose for myself. You are a marvellous person._

 _Thank you, for everything._

 _Andrea_

Miranda's clenched her jaw and her hands were trembling. This was unacceptable. Not only the last person she would expect a note from had written her, but it did not make sense. Not at all. Not in any scenario where this wasn't a goodbye-letter. And this wasn't. It. Wasn't. Not over her Runway empire.

With a devilish pace she walked into Nigel's office. Setting her iciest voice she asked:

'What is this supposed to mean?'

Nigel looked up from his light table to glance at his long time friend and boss, who held up a thin paper. He no longer got scared by her sudden appearances in his office. But Miranda looked extremely tense. Easily he recognized the violet paper that he had received in his mailbox yesterday morning. Apparently the sorting of personal post went a little slower here at Runway. The Violet had slapped him in his face, and it would have wrung his gut into a knot if he hadn't known the mistake that turned out to be the saving of his protégé. He could only phantom how the violet made Miranda feel, she was not used to have others influence her emotions on a big scale. At any scale really. And somehow Andy had always be able to do just that.

'A letter from Six I assume'. He tried to stay void of emotions.

'And why would Andrea send me this Nigel?'

He frowned, hadn't she read it? Turning back to the spreadsheets he tried to buy him some time in order to come up with a non-threatening answer.

'Look. At me. Nigel.' Miranda's voice clipped.

Sighing Nigel pulled out his handkerchief to polish his glasses. 'Well, I know she is back home now, but from what I heard was that she sent it when she was still dying so obviously she was not exactly in shape to stop the mail when-' he stopped talking, because Miranda looked paler than ever before. Not even when she was in her 21th hour of labour and Cassidy's life was at risk.

'… she…' Miranda didn't even get a sentence out.

'Yes, the erroneous swap of scans at the hospital.' He nodded again to her hand 'They give these to patients if they want to write a last letter, although the colour always putt me off, why violet for… Miranda what is in your letter?'

Microflashes of emotions were displayed on Miranda's face and as expected, anger overshadowed it all. There was only one conclusion possible. Andy hadn't told Miranda she was dying, just like she hadn't told him or Emily, and now she would actually be a dead, dead woman. Miranda opened her phone and barked 'Emily, have Roy waiting for me outside. That's all.'  
She turned to Nigel again and looked at him as if she would behead him. 'You knew about this?'

'I did not, as a matter of fact.'

Miranda ignored his answer. 'And you didn't bother to inform me?'

Miranda there was nothing that we could have done, Six neglected to say anything about her diagnosis, or rather misdiagnosis-'

'That's all.' Miranda swiftly walked out of his office.

Nigel was at a loss of what just had happened.

* * *

Andrea was lounging in her apartment. Well, as far as she could. Most of the time she felt like somebody had taken her body through a wrangler several times and then put on some Berlin underground House music in her head. It hurt like hell, together with her lungs, and all her muscles ached. Rationally she knew this was good news. Her antibiotics were helping, and her body was recovering from the morphine withdrawal. But knowing and feeling were –as the classic tale went- two vastly different entities at the moment.

She had set alarms for reminding her to take her pills with lower doses of opiates. Andy hadn't wanted them, and opted for withdrawal cold turkey style, but with the state her body was in the doctors strongly advised against it. She had given in, with the promise that they lowered the doses pretty fast, shortening the withdrawal period. Which was why she was now lying like a towel on her couch. Doug, the sweetheart, had come by again to make soup for her. They hadn't talked about her letter, but when she saw his face she immediately knew he had read it. Too weak to bring up the topic, she had accepted the pretending charade that they would do. For now.

Besides, Nigel had called yesterday. He had not been angry at her. But there hadn't been any of the dramatic flair in his voice either. In fact, it had been the first time that she had heard him being anything but witty and sarcastic-tender with her. He had just asked her one question with a voice that betrayed concern as well as something… undefinable. 'Are you okay… now?'

'Yes.' she had answered. And she had felt guilty of not telling him. Like she had so many times before.

'Thank god Six.' She heard some sniffling. And Andy had glassed over herself. She was silent for a while, and then at the brink of apologizing. But apparently Nigel had grabbed himself together enough to say; 'Good. We got a pair of shoes by Galliano that are your size yesterday. They're ridiculous. Very comfy like. A sore sight for the fashion world. Would be a waste not to be able to give them to you.'

She grinned. 'Yes. Such a shame.'

Then she got a coughing fit. And he said in his normal voice that he hoped the germs wouldn't travel through their connection. She stuttered in between breaths that it was unlikely, but that she would talk to him soon. They hung up and Andy fell asleep.

Now she woke up because of insistent knocking on her door. Her phone said it was eleven in the morning. She wondered who was at her door. Lily and Doug were working and her boss would probably not be that attentive. Slowly she rose from the couch, internally debating whether she could afford it to strain her voice by trying to yell that she was on her way but decided that the stranger better waited for her. Either they wanted to talk to her or they didn't, a minute of extra time would not make a difference.

She opened the door and stared.

In front of her stood Miranda. A very stoic looking Miranda, which meant not a very happy Miranda. And Andy was at the receiving end of her glare. Without saying anything Miranda moved her body and Andy immediately stepped aside to let Miranda in her apartment. Miranda strode by her in swift movements.

With a meticulous glance Miranda scanned her living room-slash-kitchenette. Andrea was too surprised, and too dizzy to understand why Miranda was here, and what she exactly was looking for. Until Miranda briskly walked up to the scale on her countertop where Andy held her valuable items. She held up a chain with a few keys.

'Yours I presume?'

Andy looked at her with a blank expression. What was going on? She answered though. 'Yes?'

'Which one is of your apartment?'

'Miranda wh-'

The pursing of Miranda's lips was enough to function as an interruption. Andy sighed helplessly. 'The middle silver one is of my front door. The bigger goldish one of the front door of the complex.'

Miranda opened her bag and flipped out her phone. It took one ring before someone at the other end answered. 'Get up here. Right now.'

So it was her assistant that she called. Probably. Was Miranda going to take hold of her apartment block? Had she on a whim bought it, in an attempt to drive Andy out of town after all this time? Before she could gather the energy to ask a blonde woman appeared in the doorstep. She looked nervous but also a bit arrogant. Made for the job it seemed. However Miranda apparently thought different about that. 'Emily.'

'Yes Miranda.'

'Get this key doubled within an hour and not any sooner or later. Do not return until 12:00, bring the spare one to my office. That's all.'

'Yes Miranda.' The girl retrieved the keys and hastily made her way out of Andy's apartment.

'Hey. Those are my keys. How am I going to-'

'You are not going to do anything Andrea.' Miranda hissed.

Was that a command? How could she not do anything? Was she doing something that she had to stop? Why did Miranda take her keys? Only now she smelled Miranda's perfume in the room. It made her light in her head.

And then Miranda slipped her phone back in her bag and she spotted the violet paper that was neatly stuck inside. She gasped. And with a quick look at Miranda she saw that Miranda knew she had seen it.

Miranda clenched her Jaw, but refused to say something. They stared at each other. Miranda with an unreadable expression, Andy with surprise and uncomfortableness. Until after half a minute Andy realised that she had to lie down soon for her body was protesting a lot.

Instead she said 'Do you want coffee?'

'Do I want cof- really Andrea?' Miranda was truly angry now. For Miranda not to finish her sentence meant big trouble.

'I'm sorry I just thought…' She meekly shrugged her shoulders in some form of apology.

'For Pete's sake I don't want-' Miranda regained her sanctum by inhaling through her nose. 'I don't want coffee. Emily will be back to return the key's. After that you. Will. Sleep. Am I to be understood?'

Andy nodded.

'Good.' Miranda walked back to the doorstep and did not turn around while saying 'That's all.'


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N, I am unsure about how many lettters to include, but I guess we'll figure that out along the way won't we. Don't be too angry please if this won't be an epic 100K story, I plan on keeping it fairly simple. Still I hope you like it.**

* * *

 _Lily girl,_

 _You thought you were done with all paper surrounding the hospital now did you? You are wrong. I have a last letter for you, just to cheer you up after this madness that is dying and the shock that we are not infinite. You always said that I did not dare to do stuff._

 _But here I am._

 _And luckily for you, I am here to say that once again you're right (and we both know how much you enjoy being right, so I'm counting on improvement of your mood by this post-mortem, black on white, agreement with your accurate assessment of, well, me)._

 _I know, I know, easy to say 'okay I dare, I also gotta go, bye now'. And you are probably scorning at me by doing it via written word but alas, you know I'd also rather would have done it in embodied person. Not use stating the obvious here._

 _Firstly: I love you Lills. My rocking, ethical, funny, badass, artist friend. You've been the best, and I am counting a little on that you know that by now. After all I did vehemently defend your honour by pretending Albert (please don't ever date an Albert again) had been kissing me instead of you behind the bike shed when Mrs. Milton caught sight of 'improper conduct during school hours'. Let me tell you, putting a hickey on my own upper arm (why Mrs. Milton believed that was a convincing spot for a hickey is still a wonder to me) was a weird experience. And we worked flawlessly as a team on our scientific research on 'the best Chinese takeout within a radius of 10 blocks of your apartment' (please order an extra portion of Kung Pao Chicken next time. I'm gonna miss that one!). You got my back and I got yours._

 _Secondly, I also love you because you never tried to be anything but yourself. Always down to earth (except when it comes to pretty bags ;), don't you think I don't know your weak spot miss I-casually-asked-once-every-month-if-Andy-had-got-some-new-goodies-that-she-might-not-needed). You see, you might have been the one that called me whenever you got in trouble (remember your one-night-stand-with-jail after protesting against Bush invading Irak) but when it came to giving rightful pieces of advice I needed your help way more. "'That is not the Andy I know" couldn't have been more truthful words on several occasions._

 _So here's the truth that took a little longer for me to find out about myself:_

 _I am kind of in love with Miranda._

 _Minus the kind of._

 _(please don't spit out the drink you were having)._

 _(please don't yell a fake what?!)_

 _(please don't look at me with a glance of I knew it!)._

 _I know you tried to approach the topic subtly on several occasions, but dropped it when I got diagnosed. But yes, you were right in your hunch even though you never spoke your thoughts aloud. And strangely I don't know why I ever had such trouble admitting it, but that might be because I was under the impression that I could be banned from NY working life by even uttering it out loud. Worries that just poofed out of the window now that I never need to work anymore ;). Which is a weak excuse, yes, you are right about that too. I am glad your smug face is still there._

 _I will miss you Lills, but I am beyond sure that you will have a terrific career and a great great great earthly life. Go on be awesome, with your talent of calling people out on their shit I know you will make it. And when you're in trouble, I will try my best to use my spiritual powers to get you out of it. See, the fact that I will not be physically there anymore will not put a halt to our friendship._

 _Nothing ever will,_

 _Andy._

Lilly laughed, cried, looked smug, laughed some more, cried some more and mumbled 'I knew it', without defining whether she was talking about the letter or the fact that Andy had survived. She folded the letter and planned to hug her bestie and rub it in a little next time she saw Andy. Now that Andy was still there she needed to make sure she was calling Andy on her shit as much as possible, because truth be told she needed Andy's help already after the tiny accident she got in with the hospital after they had told her that 'pushpins all over the wall' were considered 'damaging hospital property'.


	8. Chapter 8

**So I added 2 chapters. If you went straight (gay) away to the last added chapter, then you might wanna read chapter 7 first. Or not, because who am I to decide how you read :P. Bot aren't beta read btw, so probs lots of mistakes. Then again, the hospital made a mistake thinking Andy was dying so in the grander scheme of things I hope you will forgive me.**

* * *

It was Thursday evening and Andy rattled with the keys while holding part of her wallet with her mouth because both of her hands held bags full of groceries. Her motoric skills had never been the best, and she sighed in relief when the door opened quite easily. Dropping the wallet on the drawer in the small hallway and her keys on top of it she entered the living room.

… where she yelped and tried to clutch her chest while holding the bags and thus almost tripped over her own feet, miraculously maintaining enough balance to not completely fall down.

'Jesus, you could have warned me!'

Miranda did not as much as look up from where she was sitting at Andrea's table, presumably working on the book. 'I don't think I would have surpassed the noise you make when arriving. Crime journalism might not be your best career option.'

'Well, it was not my aim but thanks for the advice anyway.'

Miranda nodded once in agreement. She either missed Andrea's sarcasm but more possibly ignored it.

'What are you doing here?' Andrea put the bags on the table, near Miranda. An apple rolled out of it, almost falling down but she managed to grab it before it flicked over the edge.

'Working on the book Andrea, any other functionless questions?'

Andy took the image in. Miranda's hair was impeccable, but her eyes looked a little tired, the spark was gone and stress lines had made their way around her mouth. It must have been a long day for the editor. A long day that apparently ended in Andy's apartment without giving any notification to Andy herself.

'No.'

Miranda raised an eyebrow, either in disbelief that she wouldn't ask any "functionless" questions, or that she was crazy if she wouldn't. The typical catch 22 scenario made Andy sigh. The woman point blankly refused to be forthcoming. Ever. It was their second meeting since Andy's hospitalization, and the Emily-girl had looked at her with distrust when she had tried to ask her why Miranda needed her keys. She had not given her an answer, which was not surprising and Andy doubted if she would be able to remember any explanation anyway as she had been half asleep that afternoon. But apparently Miranda had needed them – or used them, at least- to enter her apartment, this Thursday evening. She looked at the woman again, and she realised that although it was most definitely a surprise, she was also glad that Miranda was sitting at her table.

'I am having stir fry. There is enough for two.'

Miranda didn't signal that she heard what Andy said, rather went back to work, scribbling something on a yellow post-it note. Andy shrugged her shoulders and walked onto the countertop of her kitchen where she unpacked her just bought groceries. After putting everything in the refrigerator of what she wouldn't need for dinner she said 'I'm going to change into something comfortable. I had an interview with a high-mighty-bank-ego today.'

Miranda continued unfazingly at the book, seemingly thinking about a nasty comment to write on the post-it for the article on horse-riding but then said 'If you must.' Which was not really an attack on Andy's unneeded explanation but rather on her lack of character to keep up with wearing uncomfortable clothes. Andy didn't react on it but murmured a neutral 'be right back' before walking to her bedroom. She had been ill, it was not up to Miranda to judge how much energy she had during the day. And definitely not on how she spend that energy. If she had strength left, she would need it for the white-haired enigma who was currently occupying her kitchen table anyway. There was absolute no use on spending her efforts on wearing uncomfortable clothes in her own house.

When Andy walked back to the kitchen Miranda was still very engulfed in the book, but at the last pages, she saw. So she took out a cutting board and started chopping the broccoli.

It was a few minutes later when Miranda closed the book, disappeared into the hallway and returned to the kitchen to silently join Andy in her preparations for dinner. Miranda elegantly trimmed green beans.

While heating a pan on the furnace and cutting red peppers Andy asked 'Aren't the twins home?'

'Thursday is Gregs night.' There was some silence before Miranda continued. 'Tuesday is mine. After… Stephens's departure we talked to their therapist. Now they have at least two times a week dinner with a parent.'

'Well… that's good.'

There was no reaction from Miranda. Andy threw everything together in a pan. It would make a good stew and she was hungry.

'Do you want a glass of wine?'

Mirada threw her an inquisitive glance. 'Are you properly healed?'

'I was advised not to, yet. But I'd be happy to open a bottle for you, let me just check what-'

'Leave it Andrea.'

Andy looked unsure at Miranda.

'Water will do.'

'Okay. Let me set the table. Can you watch the stew please.'

Miranda did, and it felt strangely comfortable that until so far there had been no clashing of their persona's or imago's. Miranda seemed to be here on something akin private time. Perhaps it was also her lack of energy that withheld Andy from getting tangled up completely in nerves. At the end of her working day she was still very tired, her buffer drained.

When dinner was ready, and the table set they ate in relative silence. Until Andy asked about the book, and the themes within the current issue. Miranda elaborated a bit. Then Miranda asked Andy about returning to work and her level of energy, and Andy pretended that it was completely normal to have a conversation over dinner with Miranda. They neither focussed their gaze for long periods of time on each other, mostly there was politely toned explanations in between bites. Andrea asked once if Miranda would like to have another glass of water, and Miranda looked at her while saying no thank you, the meal is quite acceptable.

It worked well enough. They kept on talking about superficial things that counted as safe topics without annoying, angering or hurting the other. It did not feel particular at ease, but it was not the mine-field walk it could have been.

After dinner there was no dessert because Andy hadn't bought one and Miranda wouldn't want one. Together they carried the plates to the kitchen counter and Andy started to fill the sink with hot water. Miranda absorbed Andy's movements while the younger woman plunged some washing liquid into the water.

'Where are your tea-towels?'

'In the cupboard near your head, but I can let it dry in the drying rack.'

'Nonsense.' Miranda took a tea-towel. It was the first time Andy saw Miranda stretch her arm above her head. It reminded her of how unfamiliar she was with the other woman. The other woman's way of moving never went further than walking, sitting and standing in professional circumstances. It was oddly domestic and new, these movements of Miranda's body as she went about ordinary tasks.

They again worked together. Miranda always held the towel in between her hands and the plate or cutlery that she took from Andy or the drying rack. It was one of the small things that made her seem upper-class, Andy thought. The editor would never have, and probably never had, wet hands from grabbing a pan with bare hands during the washing up.

'I am allergic to some soaps.' Miranda interrupted her thoughts.

Andy looked at her in slight confusion.

'You were looking at my hands. The towel prevents from having an allergic reaction. I don't have them often or severely, but using a towel this way limits the risk.'

Andy nodded. Sheepishly she added 'I understand. Doug has the same. He can't swim in the sea in summer, the salt water is too harsh on his skin.'

Miranda hmmd.

They were silent again.

When they were done Andy offered Miranda coffee.

'No thank you, the car will be here any moment.'

Apparently Miranda had set a time on beforehand on how long she would stay.

'Let me get your coat then.' She blushed slightly while realising she hadn't noticed Miranda's coat while entering her apartment. She had been too busy with her groceries. No talent for pursuing a career in crime journalism indeed.

In the hallway of her apartment Andy held Miranda's coat open and the older woman slid her arms in. Miranda smelled lovely. The silver haired woman's telephone beeped, the car had arrived.

'Do you have everything with you?' Andy asked.

Miranda looked at her slightly amused. As if the woman would forget something. Andy nodded in acknowledgement of the implausibility of such a scenario.

They walked towards the door and Andy opened it to let Miranda through.

'Thank you for coming.' It was a bit odd to thank someone who actually had invaded her house. Still she was grateful, her evening with Miranda had been good. More than she would have imagined.

Miranda gave her one nod and stepped into the gallery of Andy's apartment complex.

'Good night Andrea.'

Andy smiled. 'You too Miranda. Take care.'

When she heard the car driving away Andy closed her door.


End file.
